Fiddledaddy received a package today. The Heelys arrived. In all of their size 10 glory. The children were dancing around him as he tried them on. With wheels locked firmly in place, he stood. And took a few tentative steps. When he wasn’t immediately zipping around the house, threatening the priceless family heirlooms, the children lost interest and wandered off.
He followed me out to the mailbox. Where he positioned himself at the top of the driveway between our two cars. And rolled down slowly. I lost sight of him for a moment, perhaps because I covered my eyes with my hands. But he remained righted. Later in the kitchen, he used me as his fulcrum as he glided deftly across the linoleum. Holding onto my arms. Which he nearly broke off. “The 8 year old who lives here makes it look easy, huh?”
A mid-life crisis usually involves something to do with wheels. Such as a fancy sports car convertible. Or as in the case of three of my brothers-in-law and one SIL, a motorcycle. I think I’m getting off easy. Not that we’re dealing with a mid-life crisis around here. No siree. I’m just speaking hypothetically. The only way we’re scoring a convertible is if Fiddledaddy takes a can opener to the Prius, and a motorcycle is completely and totally out of the question. Unless it has a sidecar. And airbags. And cupholders.
Secretly I love that my husband has gotten Heelys so that he can bond with his children. What an awesome Dad my children got. And I’m not all that worried about him. He’s agile. And fit. And just anal enough to practice until he gets the hang of it before taking them out for a public spin.
And besides, the insurance premium is all paid up.
The children started telling me how superior Heelys were to, say, roller skates. And I found myself pronouncing with confidence, “Sure pal, I tell you what, we’ll go to the roller skating rink and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
The words just hung there in the air, never to be retrieved. The gauntlet has just been thrown down. And run over by a pair of wheels. Now I have to put up, or shut up.
So, next week, it should come as no surprise to anyone in this house when the UPS guy delivers a package. A little something in a size 8 for mommy. And I won’t rest until I can find pink and white pompoms to decorate the laces.
To Be Continued…….